


in all the wrong places

by meggitymeg



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Lydia Martin, F/M, Finstock/Greenberg (unrequited), Grizzly Rage, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Multi, Pack Feels, Stiles Needs a Hug, all the feels, opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggitymeg/pseuds/meggitymeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the months after Derek skips town without telling anyone (him) goodbye or leaving any clue of where he was headed, the werewolf-shaped hole in his life (not his heart - definitely not his heart) leads Stiles to find Derek in the most unlikely of circumstances.</p><p>Or, Five Times It Wasn’t Derek + One Time It Was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in all the wrong places

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest piece of fiction I've ever written; it's been nine years since I wrote anything that wasn't for uni or work. I have no idea where it came from.
> 
> Many thanks to [misscake](http://archiveofourown.org/users/misscake/profile) for the beta, to [my sister](http://xosarahdevon.tumblr.com) for the encouragement, and to my husband for patiently reading endless snippets of scenes about a show he's never seen and making me dinner when I was too distracted to stop and feed myself. ♥

**1.**

The first time it happens is two weeks (and five days and seven hours, give or take – but who’s counting? certainly not Stiles) after the town's Hale population decreased by two. He and Scott are turning the corner to the Science hall, heading for Harris's classroom (the man may be dead - sorry, _missing_ \- but the name lives on), when out of the corner of his eye Stiles catches a glimpse of a dark-haired figure in a black leather jacket disappearing into the storage closet down the hall. 

He nudges Scott. ‘Hey.’

There’s no answer. Stiles turns to look at Scott, whose attention is clearly focused elsewhere. Stiles tracks his line of sight to just past the classroom door, where two of their friends are deep in conversation, Isaac’s curly blond head bowed to meet the dimpled smile on Allison’s upturned face. He sighs.

‘Yo, Scotty.’ Still no answer. He considers waving his hand in front of Scott’s face, but before he can do so, the warning bell rings, ending the conversation and sending Isaac rushing past them with a distracted ‘what’s up, guys', on his way to Biology. He tries again.

‘Scott, bro, can you just focus for a second?’

‘Sorry, what’d you say?’ Frowning slightly, Scott finally looks at Stiles.

‘Nothing. Look, do you smell anything? I mean, anything weird?' Stiles asks, taking a few steps closer to the storage closet.

'What do you mean, weird? Like, mystery-meat-in-the-cafeteria-weird, or new-transfer-student-who-might-be-out-to-kill-us weird?'

'More the latter,' Stiles replies, lowering his voice. 'Like, wolf-strange.'

'You think there's a new werewolf in town? In the school, right now?' Scott looks slightly panicked. 

'Not a new one, no. Do you smell anything or not?'

'I don't smell any strange wolves, if that's what you're asking. Just Isaac, and a faint trace of Ethan - that must be 'cause Danny's in our next class - and, nope, no other wolves at all.'

' _Fuck_.' Stiles swears under his breath.

'What? Wait, why are you asking? Did you hear something?'

'No, I saw something - or someone, actually. Dark hair, scruff, leather jacket, ducked in there a minute ago,' he jerks his head towards the room in question.

'Dark hair, scruff, leather jacket - wait. You think Derek's back in town? Here at the school? Hiding out in the Science hall storage closet?' Scott's voice is skeptical.

'Well, when you say it like that....no. Although he's certainly spent enough time lurking on school grounds.' Stiles shrugs, aiming for casual. He doesn't quite make it, if the grimace on Scott's face is any indication.

'Have you heard from him...you know, since?' Scott asks.

Stiles sends him a sharp look. How much does Scott know? Most of their friends are – unfortunately – aware that his feelings for Derek aren’t exactly platonic; that’s what he gets for hanging around with werewolves, who can’t help but hear his heart start to race when Derek’s nearby. He’s considering making some new friends. 

‘Since…?’ he prompts. 

Scott gives him an odd look. ‘Since the lunar eclipse.’ Stiles relaxes slightly. 

‘I’m pretty sure you were the last one to see him, when the two of you were issuing your threats to Deucalion. Didn’t you guys split up to look for Jennifer’s body?’ he continues, deflecting the conversation away from himself. 

There’s no reason that Scott should know that when Derek returned to the loft, bloody and exhausted, Stiles was there, waiting. 

Or that when Stiles woke up in Derek’s bed later that morning – sun streaming through the windows, the pillow next to his head still warm – he was alone. 

He’d think it was all a dream, if not for the pleasant ache that seemed to permeate to his very bones, if not for the purpling bite marks scattered across his neck and chest and low on his right hip.

He shakes his head, shoving the memories aside.

'Anyway, I haven’t heard a peep. Guess he and Cora are living it up on Route 66, or out in New York City, or -' 

Stiles is saved from finishing that thought by the final bell. With one last glance towards the storage room, he turns and follows Scott into the classroom. The school still hasn’t found a replacement for Harris, instead subjecting the students to a string of substitute teachers – Stiles is okay with that, seeing as their last permanent hire turned out to be a power-crazed evil druid who tried to murder his dad - and what can only be the latest sub is leaning against the desk at the front of the room, flipping through the attendance register. Stiles does a double-take as he clocks the man’s dark, close-trimmed beard and the black jacket hanging neatly from the knob of the slightly open door leading to the storage closet.

_Well, that explains that._

Stiles lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and runs a hand over his face. Bracing himself for the inevitable fight to convince the sub to just call him ‘Stiles’ rather than even attempting to pronounce his first name – it never ends well for the teacher and he’s not feeling up to his usual standards of witty banter today - he slides into a free seat next to Scott, and plasters on a grin. 'Hey, new sub - guess that's who I saw. Maybe I need glasses. I bet I'd look awesome in the Tenth Doctor's brainy specs. Hey, can you imagine if it had been Derek, and he'd turned out to be our sub?'

Scott quirks the side of his mouth up as he considers the idea. 'That'd be one way to make sure everyone knew he was back in town, all right.'

'Yeah, or maybe he could parachute onto the lacrosse field like the Queen did during the opening ceremony of the Olympics.'

'Queen? I though they were broken up. Did they get back together for the Olympics? Isn't that one guy dead?'

'That 'one guy' is the one-and-only Freddie Mercury, and not Queen the band, dumbass. The Queen of freaking England.' Stiles side-eyes Scott but allows the clumsy attempt at changing the subject to pass without comment, instead seizing the opportunity to launch into an educational treatise on the lasting influence of seventies British rock while the sub passes out worksheets and fires up PowerPoint. 

**2.**

He figures it was a fluke, chalks it up to wishful thinking, but it happens again.

A couple of weeks after what Scott refers to as the Sub-Wolfer Incident - Stiles has to give Scotty props for that one, wolf's got jokes - Stiles finds himself in the backseat of Lydia’s mother’s SUV, _en route_ to San Francisco. When he thinks too hard about how that particular situation came about, his head starts to hurt. 

Lydia’s bi-annual shopping trips are the stuff of legend among the female population of Beacon Hills High – apparently Mrs. Martin books a swanky boutique hotel in Union Square for the weekend, hands Lydia her platinum credit card, and gives her free reign of the city, if the gossip is to be believed – and Stiles overheard Jackson bitching for days after accompanying the two women on their last trip. Okay, so Jackson’s no longer in the picture, but Stiles still isn’t sure why _he’s_ been chosen as replacement, other than the fact that he has a proven track record of being willing to follow Lydia around Macy’s like a puppy, arms full of her clothes (but that makes him think of Winter Formal, and he really isn’t fond of being reminded of that night _at all_ ). Lydia is dating Aiden now, right? Shouldn’t HE be here instead of Stiles? He points this out to Lydia when she texts him to remind him to pack dress shoes and a tie – he’s afraid to question why – but the distracted reply he receives makes little sense. Something about werewolves and sopranos? Stiles didn’t think San Francisco even had mobsters.

Whatever - he was getting out of Beacon Hills for a couple of days, away from the familiar people places he’s known all his life, and the spaces left behind by those caught in the crossfire of the events of the past year. He figures if he needs fancy shoes, he’ll probably at least get to eat one really spectacular meal, so that’s what he focuses on, using his phone to check TripAdvisor reviews for the best restaurants in San Francisco as the miles pass by outside his window.

Turns out he was wrong – well, not entirely wrong, as the crab legs were pretty delicious, but – standing on the steps of the War Memorial Opera House, Stiles decides he was right to be afraid of the shoes-and-tie-requirement. Also, the thing about the sopranos is starting to make sense. Even with regular human ears, he's still not sure he's going to survive the evening.

As an usher leads their party of three to their – admittedly impressive; he’s never been in a private box before – seats, Lydia whispers, ‘My grandmother bought my parents and me a lifetime subscription when I was born. It’s a Martin family tradition – since the divorce, though, my mother lets me use my dad’s ticket to bring a friend. I know it’s not really your scene – but I’m glad you’re here.’ Stiles glances up from the program in his hands in time to catch a rare genuine smile on her face, and winks at her.

‘Anything for you, Lydia, oh light of my life.’

She laughs and flips her hair over her shoulder, settling into the plush seat as the orchestra begins their warm-up, peering around the cavernous room, turning to chat with her mother about the minute changes made in the months since their last visit. ‘Oh, looks like they’ve found a replacement maestro – I’d heard they were looking. If he’s half as good at conducting as he is at filling out that suit, we’re in for a treat….’ 

He looks up at that, following her gaze down into the orchestra pit, and he swears his heart stops. The man in question is standing on a step at the front of the pit, leaning over to speak with one of the violinists, his back to them. Lydia’s still talking, but all Stiles can see are broad shoulders, strong arms, a slender waist, and an ass that should be illegal. 

The house lights dim three times in quick succession and the man turns to take his place before the orchestra. It’s not Derek, of course – Stiles can’t picture Derek in a suit, much less imagine a guy who keeps Jamiroquai and Sublime CDs under the seat of his Camaro hiding a penchant for opera – but even in formal wear, the silhouette is so familiar that he’s suddenly hit with a longing so fierce that it actually physically hurts.

His face must give him away somehow, because suddenly Lydia is pushing an envelope into his hand. ‘I’d planned to give you these tomorrow, but I think perhaps now is the right time. Consider it a thank you for tonight, and for the number of shops to which you’ll be accompanying me this weekend. And yes, I’m going with you.’

Stiles slides a finger under the seal and tugs the envelope open, two pieces of card falling into his lap. Catching sight of the Mets logo, he picks one up for a closer inspection. It’s a ticket for the following day’s game against the Giants, Game 7 of the NLCS. The winner of that game is headed to the World Series, and the seats are – he scrunches his eyes closed, trying to bring up a mental seating map of AT&T Park.

‘We’re four rows behind home plate. I expect you to catch any stray foul balls.’

Shaking his head, Stiles looks up at her. ‘Lydia, I – Lydia Martin. How the hell did you get your hands on these?’

‘I have my ways. You of all people should know that.’

He laughs, feeling the tightness in his chest start to dissolve. ‘You’re going to have to wear blue and orange, you know. You weren’t too happy about that combination last time I suggested it, if I recall correctly.’

‘And I seem to recall you saying that sometimes there are other things you wouldn’t think would be a good combination, and then they turn out to be a perfect combination.’

‘You remember that? I mean, yeah, I did say that. I think I might have been talking about Reese’s peanut butter cups, though.’ 

‘Don’t be ridiculous, you were talking about you and me. You and I both know that we’re not meant to be together like that – neither one of us is the person the other of us really wants – but we still make a pretty good team.’ Lydia reaches over and squeezes his hand as the lights dim and the conductor raises his baton, signaling the musicians to begin playing. 

Stiles isn’t about to argue with her. If he spends the majority of the evening ignoring the action on the stage in favor of watching the maestro, watching the graceful play of the muscles across his back that accompany every fluid movement, well – he’s not hurting anyone.

 _Except yourself_ , says a tiny voice in the back of his mind. He pretends he doesn’t hear it over the swell of the orchestra.

**3.**

Strange things are known to happen on All Hallow’s Eve. Stiles witnessed several of them with his own eyes last Halloween, ranging from merely unpleasant to mentally scarring, and he doesn’t really care to repeat the experience.

Lydia’s annual shindig is in full swing by the time Stiles arrives, spilling out of the Jeep – thank _fuck_ for Mr. Peterson, who managed to save Betty from the scrap heap following her rather unfortunate encounter with a tree during the Night-We’re-Just-Not-Talking-About-No-Really-We-Aren’t, aka the night Scott became an Alpha, the night his dad found out about werewolves, the night he and Derek – well. He’s just glad to have his baby back, that’s all. 

He reaches back behind the driver’s seat into the foot well and pulls out a giant Tupperware container filled with a triple batch of his mom’s famous white chocolate brownies, the ones she sent to school with Stiles on his birthday each year up until she got too sick to bake. Knowing Lydia, she’d hired caterers to provide every sort of finger food imaginable, but when she’d stopped him in the hall on her way to AP Calculus and inquired sweetly if he’d make his ‘special brownies’ for her party, he found himself powerless to refuse her request – especially as it _was _a request, rather than a demand – so he went home, braved the attic and dug out his mom’s old recipe box.__

__(The expression on Scott’s face when he came out of the bathroom, clearly having overheard their conversation, was priceless. Stiles nearly peed his pants, he was laughing so hard. It wasn’t Scott’s fault – he hadn’t known Stiles back then, didn’t have any idea what Lydia mean, didn’t know just how special these brownies were. Stiles is looking forward to clueing him in.)_ _

__Lydia meets him at the door, somehow looking cool and completely unruffled despite the noise that pours out of the house, dispersing in the cool night air. Stiles follow her as she weaves expertly through the crowd, leading him into the kitchen, where she pops open the lid of the Tupperware and begins to arrange the brownies on a platter._ _

__“This crowd’s even bigger than last year, Lyds – wait, is that _Finstock_ in the pool? What the hell is he doing here?’_ _

__‘Unfortunately, yes. Apparently Greenberg’s mom wouldn’t let him come unless an adult was present, so he brought the Coach.’_ _

__‘Is that even legal?’ He shakes his head as another thought occurs to him. ‘Wait - you invited Greenberg?!’_ _

__‘Of course not,’ Lydia shoots back, indignant. ‘Scott invited Greenberg. You know he has a soft spot for strays.’_ _

__‘And you have a soft spot for Scott. I knew we’d grow on you eventually.’_ _

__Lydia gives him a Look. Stiles raises his hands in surrender, backing out of the room, but not before swiping a brownie. He wanders out onto the patio just in time to narrowly avoid the tidal wave created by someone – probably Finstock, but he’s not about to look in case the Coach is in swim trunks, that’s just _wrong_ \- cannon-balling into the deep end of the pool. He digs around in one of the ice-filled buckets by the door, looking for a Coke – why are there always so many freaking cans of Pepsi and no Coke? - and, finding one at last, ducks back inside and heads towards the basement, thinking he hears Isaac’s laugh drift up the stairs. The room is empty save for Isaac, Scott and Allison, who are piled in a mess of tangled limbs on one of the overstuffed sofas, laughing at whatever is playing on the giant plasma television taking up most of the opposite wall._ _

__‘Heeeey, Stiles.’ Scott sounds incredibly relaxed. Given the relatively early hour and the whole ‘werewolves-can’t-get-drunk’ thing, Stiles isn’t sure he wants to know what’s happened to make him that way. He raises an eyebrow at Isaac, but the werewolf’s angelic expression doesn’t shift. Allison’s cheeks are particularly rosy. Scratch that – Stiles _really_ doesn’t want to know._ _

__‘Whatcha watching?’ he asks, perching on the arm of the sofa. The others somehow manage to shift over without disengaging, making room for him to sit down._ _

__‘Some TV movie about a bear that goes crazy and starts killing teenagers,’ Isaac volunteers. ‘It’s so bad it’s actually entertaining. Kind of. At least the actors are hot? And the bear’s kind of a badass.’_ _

__‘Sounds like more fun than watching Greenberg make googly eyes at Finstock,’ Stiles says. Scott looks guilty. ‘It’s alright, bro. I didn’t have any other plans for that bottle of brain bleach I keep under the bathroom sink.’_ _

__Allison giggles. Scott turns to her, wounded. Stiles smirks at Isaac, and produces a package wrapped in foil from the pocket of his hoodie. ‘Anyone up for one of my mom’s ‘special brownies’?’_ _

__Scott groans. ‘You guys are never going to let me live that down, are you?’_ _

__‘Nope.’_ _

__‘Nah.’_ _

__‘Probably not. Sorry.’_ _

__Stiles hands the package to Allison and lets himself sink back into the sofa cushions. The conversation moves from school gossip, to the lacrosse team’s chances for next season, to the last full moon (thankfully uneventful – Stiles was in San Francisco with Lydia that weekend, a little too far away to come to anyone’s rescue). The television is largely forgotten until a lull in the conversation syncs with a loud roar from the killer bear and they all look up, startled. Onscreen, the bear has managed to tree one of the guys and is pacing impatiently at the foot of the trunk. The camera pans in on the actor and Stiles feel like all the air has been sucked out of the room._ _

__Dimly, he hears Isaac remark ‘wow, that guy really looks like Derek,’ followed by ‘Scott, what the_ fuck_?! Are your elbows made out of knives? That fucking _hurt_!’ and Allison’s voice hissing ‘ _Isaac_. Shut. Up.’ Stiles ignores all of it, focuses instead on taking one deep breath after another, eyes glued to the screen. 

__The guy looks exactly like Derek. Like, if he didn’t know better, he’d think that Derek spent the years between the fire and Laura’s death making crappy B-rated horror films for Canadian TV. Same eyes, same nose, same lips, same hands…every body part he can see is the same. Maybe a bit younger than Derek is now, more like he looked when they first met, in the woods looking for Scott’s inhaler, but still. Even filthy and covered in blood, the resemblance is uncanny – and it’s not as if he hasn’t seen Derek in the same state, or worse. Unbidden, an image of Derek’s bare back rises to mind: _rivulets of water running along his spine and over the swell of his_ –_ _

__Stiles struggles up from the sofa, avoiding eye contact, and announces to the room at large, ‘I have to go. I need some air. Um, I’m gonna go…up there. Out. Yeah. Okay.’ He turns and practically runs for the stairs. He hears footsteps behind him, and quickens his pace. Reaching the top of the staircase, he throws open the door only to be assaulted by a cacophony of sound – he’d completely forgotten about the party. Faltering for a moment, he feels a small hand on his shoulder, and turns to face Allison, who’s left the others behind and followed him upstairs._ _

__‘I’m going to go find Lydia. You know where her room is?’ He nods. ‘Good. Head upstairs, and I’ll meet you there in less than five minutes. Do you want me to get you a drink?’_ _

__Stiles doesn’t hesitate. ‘Yeah, Jack & Coke, heavy on the Jack. Um, maybe you should just bring the bottle.’ His voice cracks on the last word, and he ducks his head, embarrassed. Allison squeezes his arm, then gives him a gentle push in the direction of the stairs. He lifts his gaze to meet hers for a brief moment._ _

__‘Thanks, Al.’_ _

__She gives him a small, soft smile. ‘Anytime.’_ _

__Stiles wakes up the next morning with a splitting headache and a mouth that feels like a monkey crawled into it to die. He desperately needs to pee, but seems to be trapped in the middle of Lydia’s king-size bed, Allison on one side, Lydia on the other. Hearing a distinctive snuffle-snore, he lifts his head up just far enough to peer over Allison’s sleeping form and spot Scott and Isaac sacked out on an air mattress next to the bed before realizing that movement of any kind is a Really Bad Idea. He can’t remember much of what happened after he made it to Lydia’s room – the empty bottle of Jack on Lydia’s nightstand gives him some idea – but given the pounding in his head and the ever-present ache in his heart, he hopes to hell that he didn’t let anything slip. By now, six weeks after That Night, his friends know _something_ happened with Derek – but they don’t know what, and that’s the way he wants it to stay. _ _

__**4.** _ _

__In the months since Scott was bitten, Stiles has gotten pretty good at lying, out of necessity, to protect the people he loves from danger. He’s gotten pretty good at lying to himself in the process._ _

__Three nights after Lydia’s party, Stiles wakes from a dead sleep in the middle of the night. His bedroom is dark and quiet; there are no immediately obvious signs of what caused him to startle awake, and a quick peek at his alarm clock reveals blue glowing numerals displaying the time to be 2:04am. Groaning, he rolls over and freezes._ _

__There are two blue lights glowing in a corner in the room that Stiles is certain contains no electronic equipment._ _

__‘Derek?’ he whispers, hoping like hell his guess is correct and it’s not actually Creepy Uncle Peter doing his best Edward Cullen impression. His trepidation gives way to cautious hope when Derek steps forward, into the moonlight from the window – which is open, Stiles realizes belatedly, which it definitely hadn’t been when he went to bed. Derek drops to a crouch next to his bed, hesitantly reaching one large hand out towards Stiles, and the hope solidifies into certainty when he feels the warmth of Derek’s skin against his._ _

__Struggling to sit up without breaking skin or eye contact with Derek, afraid that if he does, Derek will disappear once more in the shadows from which he came, Stiles awkwardly pats the mattress. ‘C’mere.’_ _

__He doesn’t have to ask twice. Derek is on the bed before Stiles can blink, stretching out alongside him, facing him, crowding into his space. Arousal flares low in his belly, his heart beating wildly, and Derek jerks his head up to look Stiles in the eye. He shifts minutely, trying to avoid drawing attention to the lower half of his body, unsure of what Derek wants, unsure of what _he_ wants. Derek inhales deeply, and his eyes flash. _ _

__‘Stiles.’_ _

__It’s a growl, a question, and a demand, all at once, and Stiles shudders._ _

__‘Yes.’_ _

__That’s all it takes. In an instant, Derek flips him onto his back, covering Stiles with his own body, bracing his weight on the hands planted on either side of Stiles’ head. Derek’s legs are straddling his hips, but he’s holding back, barely touching Stiles, though Stiles can feel the tension in his frame, can feel the slight tremor in the places Derek’s thighs meet his, even through the layers of fabric. Stiles bites back a moan, unconsciously canting his hips upwards, and Derek’s eyes blaze as he crushes their mouths together, licking his way inside as he drags a hand through Stiles’ hair. Stiles retaliates by grabbing Derek’s ass with both hands and tugging him down to lie flush against him, swallowing Derek's groan as the heavy, solid line of his cock drags against Stiles' own erection._ _

__Derek breaks the kiss, ducking his head to breathe hotly against Stiles’ neck. Stiles tips his head back to allow Derek easier access, and he’s rewarded with a sharp nip, the pain immediately soothed as Derek laves the mark with a heavy tongue. Stiles’ entire body is aflame, the heat of Derek’s skin and the weight of his body combining with the searing open-mouthed kisses Derek is pressing to every available inch of bare skin. Derek shifts slightly to his left, making room for his right hand to skim over Stiles’ ribs, then his hip, before dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers and palming Stiles’ cock. Stiles’ eyes flutter closed as he revels in the sensation – he may only have experienced this once before, but he’s pretty sure he’ll never forget the feeling – only for them to fly open again at the sound of his dad’s voice._ _

__Blinking, he looks around. It’s light out, his dad is in the hallway outside his room shouting for him to get moving before he’s late for school, and Stiles is alone in his bed with an aching hard-on and a mind full of memories he thought he’d locked away._ _

__**5.** _ _

__Thanks to an omega’s unexpected visit to Beacon Hills – her car breaks down just outside of town, and it takes Mr. Peterson over a week to order and receive the necessary parts, and even longer to finish the repairs – Stiles spends most of November wrangling restless werewolves. He has his hands full; the scent of a strange wolf in familiar places has Scott and Isaac on edge, never mind Aiden and Ethan; and keeping them all occupied out of trouble is like herding wet cats. Nights are the hardest for the wolves, so Stiles, with his dad’s permission, works out a schedule and extends mandatory invitations to his version of a werewolf sleepover camp, splitting his time between Scott’s house and his own._ _

__The upside of this arrangement is that it’s been days since Stiles has had to sleep on this own. Ever since the night that he’d dreamed about Derek’s return – he still can’t think about that morning without his stomach lurching – he’s been avoiding his bed: staying up late, trying to wear his mind and body out so that when he does sleep, he’ll do so without dreaming, then crashing on an air mattress, or on the couch downstairs. So far, it’s worked. The omega finally left town a few hours ago, though, so everyone’s back in their own homes tonight. Stiles would be lying if he says he’s not apprehensive about the evening to come._ _

__His dad is, surprisingly, home at dinner time, and over bowls of grilled chicken salad he informs Stiles that he’s finally found the chance to take back some of the overtime he’s put in over the past year and, barring an emergency, won’t have to go back into the station until at least Monday. Stiles makes all the right noises, but his mind is racing – his dad being home means no chance of crashing downstairs, at least not without raising a lot of questions, and so he’s either going to have to stay up all night or face sleeping in his own bed. He’s already exhausted from werewolf camp, so he decides pulling an all-nighter isn’t viable and, once they’ve cleared the table, tells his dad that’s he going out for a run._ _

__Stiles is a pretty decent runner – off-season lacrosse training with the cross-country team means he’s pretty good at distance running and his endurance isn’t bad – but no matter how far or how fast he runs, he can’t escape his own thoughts._ _

__When he gets home, he takes a quick shower, considers knocking one off but decides against it, given the particular nature of the memories he’s trying to repress, and logs onto Skype to check on Scott and Isaac before reluctantly stripping down to his boxers and climbing under the covers. The extra exercise has paid off and he’s asleep in mere minutes – which is why it’s all the more annoying when his phone vibrates its way off his nightstand at 3:47am._ _

__Stiles makes a grab for the phone and winds up falling out of the bed. Cursing under this breath, he swipes to connect the call, ready to give whoever’s on the other end an earful. ‘Whaddya want?’_ _

__‘Stiles.’ It’s Scott, and he sounds upset._ _

__‘Scott,’ Stiles is suddenly fully awake. ‘What’s going on?’_ _

__‘Stiles,’ Scott says again. ‘Stiles, it’s Derek. You need to get here, fast.’_ _

__Stiles is already on his feet, phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder as he hops from one foot to the other, pulling on a pair of jeans. ‘Where’s here?’ he asks frantically, shoving his bare feet into a pair of chucks and grabbing a hoodie._ _

__‘We’re at Deaton’s. Stiles, you need to hurry.’_ _

__‘I’ll be there in ten minutes, maybe less.’ He’s already down the stairs, grabbing his keys from the bowl by the door, not caring if he wakes up his dad. He’s out the door and starting the Jeep in another ten seconds, tossing his phone on the passenger seat. He hears Scott’s voice, faint. ‘Be careful.’ Stiles snorts. ‘Right.’_ _

__He makes it to the clinic – normally at least a fifteen-minute drive with no traffic – in seven minutes, and thanks his lucky stars that his dad isn’t on patrol tonight. The lights are on in the back, and Isaac’s at the front door, waiting._ _

__‘What happened? Where’s Derek? What’s going on?’ The questions are spilling out so quickly that he has to consciously pause to take a breath._ _

__Isaac shakes his head. ‘We don’t know. He showed up at Scott’s and collapsed on the front porch. Melissa found him there when she got home from work. He’s in with Deaton now, but, Stiles – ‘ He bites his lip, and continues. ‘It doesn’t look good.’_ _

__Stiles feels the words like a punch to the gut._ _

__‘I need to see him.’ He shoves past Isaac and vaults over the counter, heading for the back room. Isaac locks the front door and follows._ _

__Even with Scott and Isaac’s warnings, he’s not prepared for the sight of Derek lying unconscious on the exam table. He’s pale – too pale – and smaller than Stiles remembers, like he’s collapsed into himself somehow. When he moves closer, reaching out a hand to cover Derek’s, he recoils slightly at the feel of his skin. Cool and papery under his touch, instead of the hot, smooth surface to which he’s accustomed, it reminds him of his mom, during those final days in the hospital, after she’d stopped her chemo._ _

__Just like back then, he wants to do something, to help, to fix the situation. Just like back then, he feels utterly helpless._ _

__He looks across the table at Deaton. ‘Tell me everything you know.’_ _

__Deaton takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. ‘I don’t know much. As you’re aware, Derek’s been away for some time now, so I can’t make assumptions as to what he might have encountered or experienced between the day he left Beacon Hills,’ Stiles doesn’t want to think about what might be showing on his face, ‘and tonight.’_ _

__‘But you have a suspicion, don’t you? Or else you’d be _doing something_.’ Stiles is trying to stay calm, but his hands are shaking and he’s having difficulty breathing._ _

__‘Unfortunately, you’re right – I do. If it’s what I suspect, then I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done – there’s nothing any of us can do to halt the course of nature.’_ _

__Stiles is only marginally aware of his fingernails biting into the surface of his palms. In the doorway, Scott and Isaac stand shoulder to shoulder, faces stricken._ _

__‘It has to do with Cora, right? With the fact that she’s alive and well, while he’s no longer an alpha.’_ _

__‘Right again, Mr. Stilinski.’_ _

__‘He’s literally killing himself to save her life.’_ _

__‘It would appear so.’_ _

__Stiles is suddenly furious. ‘Who the _fuck_ told him how to do that? Was it you?’_ _

__Deaton looks surprised for a brief moment, before he schools his expression into its usual calm façade. ‘It wasn’t me, I can assure you that. I can’t be certain, but I would hazard a guess it was Peter Hale.’_ _

__Stiles feels like screaming, like crying, like flinging his arms wide and catching hold of every breakable jar in the room and smashing them all to smithereens._ _

__‘That fucking _bastard_. Is there anything he won’t do to come out on top? I swear to god, werewolf or not, I will end him.’_ _

__‘Not if we get there first.’ It’s Scott that speaks, but Isaac is nodding in agreement._ _

__Stiles turns back to Deaton. ‘How long do we have? Is there any chance he’ll wake up?’_ _

__‘It’s hard to say – he’s unconscious but not comatose, so he could – but if I’m honest, I’ll be surprised if he’s still with us by sunrise.’_ _

__Stiles staggers under the weight of the vet’s words. He turns to the doorway. ‘Do either of you have anything you need to say to him?’_ _

__Isaac moves forward, leaning down to whisper in Derek’s ear, while Scott shakes his head. ‘I’ve already said my goodbyes, in the car on the way over – I really wasn’t sure he was going to be alive when we got here.’_ _

__Stiles nods, not trusting his voice._ _

__Isaac clears his throat. ‘Um, I’m good. Scott, do you want to go wait out front with me?’ Scott looks to Stiles, who nods again._ _

__‘We’ll be in the lobby if you need us.’_ _

__Deaton follows them out, closing the door behind him, leaving Stiles alone with Derek. He drags a chair over to the table and sits down, taking Derek’s hand in his own, using his other hand to smooth back strands of silky black hair. He traces his fingers over Derek’s face, starting with his ridiculous eyebrows – which somehow look even more enormous now that the rest of Derek looks so small – and moving on to his eyelashes, down the slope of his nose and across his top lip. He stops, lost in the memory of tracing that lip with his tongue._ _

__There are so many things Stiles wants to say, and he has no idea where – or how – to begin._ _

__He’s about to pull his hand back when he feels a minute twitch against his thumb. His heart jumps into his throat as he catches sight of movement beneath Derek’s closed eyes. Holding his breath, he squeezes the hand in his ever so gently. After a moment, Derek’s eyes flutter open, and a sigh escapes his parted lips._ _

__‘Derek! Derek, I’m here, I don’t know what else to say but I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.’ Stiles clamps his mouth shut against the sudden tide of words that threatens to escape._ _

__‘Stiles…’ It’s faint, but it’s definitely his name. He directs a teary smile at Derek, and is rewarded with a slight eyebrow quirk. ’M’sorry.’_ _

__‘It’s okay. I forgive you. It’s going to be okay.’ Stiles isn’t really sure who’s trying to reassure whom._ _

__‘For leaving. For not…’ He can hear the rattle of Derek’s chest as he tries to draw a breath. ‘…not telling you.’_ _

__Stiles can feel his heart breaking. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything. I already know.’_ _

__‘…need t’say.’ Derek is really struggling now, and Stiles is starting to panic._ _

__‘…Stiles, I –‘ It’s too much, and Derek falls silent. His mouth tips open, as if he has no energy left to keep it closed, and his eyes lock onto Stiles._ _

__Stiles is frantic, now that the end is so close. ‘Don’t you dare _'Rose Tyler'_ me, you ridiculous wolf. Derek, c’mon, stay with me, c’mon –‘_ _

__It’s too late, though, and he watches, helpless, as the light fades from Derek’s eyes. His own vision clouds over as the tears he’s been holding back finally escape, and he blinks rapidly to clear his eyes –_ _

__– and wakes up, tears streaming down his face._ _

__The clock reads 11:48pm. He makes a grab for his phone, and checks the date. It’s the same as when he went to bed._ _

__Needless to say, he doesn’t sleep again that night._ _

__**+1** _ _

__It’s been a rough semester for Stiles. Granted, the supernatural world has been pretty quiet since mid-September, and school’s been pretty average, and there have been definite high points, like the Mets game with Lydia, who turned out to know a surprising amount about baseball – okay, not really surprising, considering it’s _Lydia_ , but given the all-out war on his sanity that his subconscious seems to be waging, Stiles is grateful to the school district for deciding to give everyone the entire week of Thanksgiving off. He’s been using the time wisely – overnight Black Ops marathons with Scott and Isaac, brainstorming how to write college application essays on the topic of _'your greatest challenge'_ without mentioning werewolves with Lydia and Allison, taking lunch to his dad down at the station and actually sticking around to eat it with him, jerking off in the middle of the day when there’s no danger of falling asleep afterward…._ _

__Wednesday afternoon rolls around, and he’s finishing up the shopping list for a final grocery run. Thanksgiving dinner is usually pretty quiet, just his dad and him and Scott and his mom, and of course this year there’ll be Isaac, too, but he still likes to put on a spread, it reminds him of past holidays with his mom, and he knows his dad appreciates the extra effort. Adding the final item to the list, which he’s written on an envelope containing the coupons for this trip – an old habit of his mom’s, just like how his parents used to leave each other notes scribbled on paper plates – he snags his hoodie from the hook in the hall and pockets his phone and wallet._ _

__Clenching the envelope between his teeth, he pulls open the front door with one hand while rooting around in the junk pile by the door for his keys with the other. ‘Gotcha!’ he says to himself as his hand closes around the ring, and looks up._ _

__Derek Hale is standing on his porch._ _

__The envelope falls to the ground._ _

__Trying to be surreptitious about it, Stiles pinches himself. He clearly fails, if the brief smirk that appears on Derek’s face is anything to go by._ _

__Not a dream, then._ _

__He takes a step back and trips over the doorjamb. Bending down to retrieve the envelope, he takes a deep breath. When he straightens up, Derek’s expression is blank once more. ‘I’m on my way to the grocery store, but…um. Do you want to come in?’_ _

__Derek doesn’t move, but several emotions play over his face in rapid succession, so quickly that Stiles just wants to reach out and pull him forward, into the house, save Derek the effort of deciding what to do._ _

__‘Stiles…’ he starts, his voice rough._ _

__Stiles nods, quick. ‘That’s me.’_ _

__‘I…I’m so sorry.’_ _

__He suddenly feels sick. ‘Sorry for what?’_ _

__Derek shuts his eyes for a moment, then takes a deep breath, pulls his shoulders back, locks eyes with Stiles._ _

__‘I’m sorry for leaving. For not telling you I was going, where I was going. For not staying in touch.’ He pauses. ‘For not being there when you woke up.’_ _

__Stiles exhales slowly, his heartbeat picking up._ _

__‘Not for what happened before that?’_ _

__Derek blinks, thrown off for a moment. ‘Not for that. I’m not sorry about what we did. I probably should be –‘_ _

__Stiles cuts him off, his voice sharp. ‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’_ _

__‘- but I’m not. I’m sorry for a lot of things, but not that.’_ _

__Stiles relaxes slightly. ‘Oh. Okay then. Me neither.’_ _

__‘Good.’_ _

__‘Good.’_ _

__There’s a pause, while Stiles looks at Derek and Derek looks at Stiles._ _

__‘Uh, so… _do_ you want to come in?’ he repeats. ‘Or do you have somewhere more important to be?’_ _

__The corners of Derek’s mouth curl up in a tiny smile. ‘No, I definitely don’t have anywhere more important to be than right here.’_ _

__Stiles grins. ‘Is that so?’_ _

__‘Yep.’_ _

__‘How are you at peeling potatoes?’_ _

__‘I’m better at carrying bags of groceries. Didn’t you say you were headed to the store?’_ _

__‘You want to go grocery shopping with me?’ Stiles laughs._ _

__Derek is silent for a moment. ‘I want to do everything with you.’_ _

__The smile that spreads across Stiles’ face is blinding. ‘Let’s maybe just start with grocery shopping. Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?’_ _

__‘No, but I have a feeling I’m about to.’ He holds a hand out to Stiles, who takes it, and doesn’t let go until they reach the Jeep._ _

__The two of them still have a lot to talk about – Stiles knows that – but they’ll get there. He sneaks a peek at Derek as he cranks the engine and reverses down the drive. Derek’s eyes are warm and bright, and his smile is steady._ _

__Yeah, they’re gonna be just fine._ _

**Author's Note:**

> \+ I've used the lunar calendar for 2013 as a reference, even though the show is ostensibly still taking place in 2011. Assuming school starts the second week of August (which it definitely did this year in at least one California district - thanks, Google), the full moon during which _Fireflies_ takes place is on 21st August and thus the events of _Lunar Ellipse_ (the second full moon) happen on 19th September. The timeline for this story, therefore, is: 
> 
> Part 1: Tuesday 1st October  
> Part 2: Friday 18th October  
> Part 3: Thursday 31st October (I've decided there's a teacher training day on the Friday so Lydia's party can take place on the actual day of Halloween)  
> Part 4: Monday 4th November  
> Part 5: Thursday 21st November  
> Part +1: Wednesday 27th November
> 
> \+ Stiles's birthday has been given elsewhere as the 8th of April; given that he's been driving since the pilot episode, I'm assuming he turned 17 in 2011 (and was possibly held back a year as a child, maybe as a result of his mother's illness & death). So, technically, he's underage, (thus the archive warning) - but IMO, 17 and a half isn't that different from 18, especially when you've faced the sort of things Stiles has, other than in the eyes of the law.
> 
> \+ The home of the San Francisco Opera is indeed the War Museum Opera House, but I've never been – many apologies if I've misrepresented the building or company in any way. 
> 
> \+ The Mets are currently 20.5 games back in the NL East and the Giants are last in their division, so there definitely will not be any NLCS games at AT&T Park this year. Sorry, Stiles.
> 
> \+ The film playing on the telly in Lydia's basement is unfortunately real - it's called _Grizzly Rage_ , and stars a 19-year-old Tyler Hoechlin. I’m not sure even that fact is reason enough to suffer through it.
> 
> \+ The recipe for Stiles's mom's 'special brownies' is [here](http://www.averiecooks.com/2012/04/white-and-dark-chocolate-cream-cheese-chocolate-cake-bars.html). 
> 
> \+ Making lists on envelopes and leaving notes on paper plates are both habits I've picked up from my own mother. 
> 
> Comments are love. ♥ Thanks for reading!


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